


Zero Sum

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Drama, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney was never supposed to be here, and time is running out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zero Sum

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to my invaluable First Readers for their advice and encouragement.

_**Stargate: Atlantis Nanofic: Zero Sum**_  
 **STATUS:** Crossposted to [](http://gate-house.livejournal.com/profile)[**gate_house**](http://gate-house.livejournal.com/) on 6/1/07.  
 **TITLE:** Zero Sum  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** John Sheppard-Rodney McKay, strong friendship  
 **RATING:** R, for rough language and mature emotional themes.  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** No; it's just a story.  
 **SUMMARY:** Rodney was never supposed to be here, and time is running out.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** Thanks, as always, to my invaluable First Readers for their advice and encouragement.  
This nanofic is set at an indeterminate time in the future.  
 **BETA:** None.

  
 **Zero Sum**

  
John is sweating, he can feel it, and that's wrong because he _never_ sweats, but he is now and it's still wrong but he can't make it stop because --

Because this has gotten totally out of hand.

What the fuck was he thinking, no what the fuck was _Elizabeth_ thinking, letting those Black Ops guys rope him into this undercover mission? It's not like Atlantis has ever had any _need_ of super-secret missions, infiltrating these terrorist groups set up by the Genii -- if anybody had bothered to ask him he would've said "Live and let live" or "They're not bothering us these days so why should we bother them?" or "Stick it where the sun don't shine and then kiss it" but no, no one ever fucking _asks_ him anything.

They just order him, and so he does it. Because he's Colonel John Sheppard, USAF, and he has to.

He hits Rodney again.

"Tell me the access codes," he orders, and his voice is as rough and merciless as he can possibly make it and Rodney's nose has bled all over his shirt and John thinks there might be a couple of Rodney's teeth on the floor and oh Christ this has gotten so totally out of hand.

"The access codes," he repeats, and silently begs _"Please, McKay, please don't tell me"_ and Rodney doesn't and John's so proud of him that he hits him again.

Ronon can come through the door anytime now, please.

Please.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," the leader of the freedom fighter ( _terrorist_ ) cell says. "He's not going to talk."

For a moment Rodney's harsh breathing is the only sound in the room. He'd exhausted his store of insults in the first couple of hours and now he's just sitting slumped in the chair he's tied to.

"We need to get to the next safe house," the leader says, and John looks at him. His name is Randy, and isn't that a hoot, a fucking _terrorist_ named _Randy_.

"Finish him," Randy says, and presses a gun into John's hand.

John stares at it. It's an old-fashioned snub-nosed .38, blunt and ugly. _What the hell. What the fucking hell._

Ronon? Door. Now.

 _Buy time,_ John thinks. It's hard to think right now, because ... because this has gotten so completely, totally, fucking out of hand.

"No," John says, and is profoundly surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. "I know a better way. This will make him talk."

He taps the barrel, hard, against the palm of his left hand. The cylinder snaps open exactly as it should, because they sure knew how to make firearms back in the day, yes they surely did. The butt-ends of six flat copper jackets gleam back at him, and John swiftly shakes them all out. Five of them hit the plank floor, making tiny musical pinging sounds as they bounce and roll -- the sixth, he palms and inserts back into its chamber.

The others in the room are watching him carefully, hands at their weapons.

They still don't entirely trust him.

He slaps the cylinder in place and spins it.

God. Ronon? Teyla? Anybody?

"Dr. McKay," John says, and wants to spit the words from his mouth -- they taste like cinders and ashes on his tongue. "The access codes."

He presses the muzzle of the .38 to Rodney's left temple. Rodney takes a deep, gasping breath.

At the start of the interrogation, he'd looked at John in utter disbelief, his blue eyes wide with shock. Now those blue eyes, those _clever_ eyes, are virtually swollen shut, but somehow Rodney still finds the strength to whisper "No."

The sweat is running into John's eyes and he tries to remember, to think where this all turned, how they got to this point, this fucking awful point where he's holding a gun to his best friend's head.

And then his best friend raises that head, and looks at him, really _looks_ at him, and whispers "Make it worth something, John."

And John does.

  
~ fin


End file.
